


Nothing To Say

by animalboything



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animalboything/pseuds/animalboything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few vignettes from Sokaro's POV about the one thing that he bonded with Cross over, and the one thing that tore them apart: death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing To Say

**Author's Note:**

> My slow efforts to transfer old fanfics here (and eventually work on new ones).

If there was one thing that Sokaro and Cross had in common, it was a love for the dead. Dying. Didn’t matter. Without life, there was no feeling, no pain. Sokaro hadn’t cared about Maria when he saw her for the first time. Cracked a joke or two about necrophilia. He was cool with it.

They were cool with a lot of things.

Wine was always passed in a bottle between the duo. Sometimes Tiedoll would join them and the three would laugh and make bets as to how long it’d take Cross to score with someone. Other times, Cloud joined their group and the dynamic again was different. Then they were quieter, though not necessarily more sober. Laughter admittedly followed any time Cross would get turned down by Cloud on one of his advances, or when Cross would stump the woman, delighting as her cheeks flushed rose, eye narrowing in angry embarrassment. Often Cross and Sokaro would declare how much they hated each other but by the fifth round they’d throw arms about each other’s shoulders singing songs of the old days interrupted by, “This dude’s the MAN!” as well as, “I LOVE THIS GUY!”

When they fought together Cross often interfered when Sokaro was on the battlefield, sometimes refraining the man from the degree of his slaughter. It annoyed Sokaro if he pulled off the mask; when he wore his mask that was another story. It was a restraining order, a reminder of who he once was, who he remained, and his pact. Life for a life – it didn’t come free.

Cross hated fighting. Sokaro remembered a time when Cross yelled at him to withdraw, Judgment fired long range to wipe out the akumas. It ruined Sokaro’s fun, and he was angry but he wore the mask. There was a reason.

***

That night, Sokaro bought the drinks as Cross slumped low in his seat, hand pressed to his face, cigarette smoldering in between his lips. Sometimes the ash would burn Cross’ skin and he’d swear. Sometimes he’d forget to light the end and sit there, eye fixed across the room.

By the tenth drink, Cross would talk, and Sokaro would remember the man Cross would tag around with, often bringing him to the hotels they stayed at and, on occasion, HQ itself. Scientist friend from his old job, Cross would call him, but Sokaro knew better, even before Tiedoll had asked the man what field of science did he specialize in. “Oh, I’m not a scientist,” he said, “I’m a circus clown.”

Things were always tense with Tiedoll and Cross after that, Tiedoll offering himself as a friendly face Cross could confide in while Cross would withdraw into himself.

“You got the wrong idea,” he said, head shaking. “I’m not a fucking queer.”

***

Sokaro hated getting the room by Cross on their missions. When Cross had over lady company, the women’s high pitched squeals grated against his nerves. When Cross had over male company, it was Cross who was doing the screaming. At first Sokaro had assumed it was many male lovers after a night of drunkenness, surely it couldn’t have been that man ALL the time, but sometimes there was a name with it. Something cried during the most fiery point of orgasm:

“Mana!”

The first time Sokaro fucked Cross was a few months before Mana died. Cross staggered into his room, crying, broken, like some woman. A bottle of absinthe rest in one hand, his opposite shoulder against the wall.

“What?” Sokaro had asked gruffly.

“Fucking idiot left.”

Sokaro quirked his eyebrow and shrugged. People were always coming and going. It was just the way things were. “So what?”

“Suicide,” Cross ground between clenched teeth. “It’s suicide.”

Sokaro blinked. “He’s dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh?”

“Can’t stop him. He… he’s gonna go back. He knows. He knows. They’re gonna kill him. He knows.”

“Is he killing himself, or is he waiting for them to kill him?” Cross didn’t answer. “Everyone dies. It’s a goddamn war, you know that.”

“Not like this.” He shook, bottle tilted back as he swallowed the strong substance. “He’s just letting them. Barely running. Jerk had the nerve… the nerve to make me promise to watch after the kid.”

“That faggot’s married?”

“Christ, Winters! Just shut the fuck up already, would ya?”

“You want to talk, and cry, and act like a woman, go to Tiedoll.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Why the Hell are you here, Cross?”

Sokaro didn’t know why he didn’t kill Cross on the spot when the man approached him and kissed the sharp teeth decorating his mask. If he went for him without that layer of separation, he would have bitten the bastard’s face off. But he allowed it.

His head lowered as Cross tugged at his belt, hand working beneath the fabric on his hips as he sank to his knees. Sokaro grunted deeply as he allowed himself to be stripped from the waist down, arms folding over his chest.

“Hey Cross,” he said as the shorter man wrapped a hand around his massive length, Prince Albert glinting silver in the light.

“Hn?” A reply offered moments before his lips encircled the tip of his cock, tip of his tongue tracing the piecing from the underside up to the slit. Sokaro moved a hand into the thick mess of red hair as he tilted his head back.

“Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you.”

***

In the three months following, almost nightly Cross would come to Sokaro’s room, sometimes undressing before even setting foot inside or locking the door. Sokaro took him as many ways as he could think. Hands and knees, on his side, leg pulled up and over his shoulder as he gripped the bedpost for support, face to the wall… anything, anyway.

And then it stopped.

“Come for more?” Sokaro asked, glancing at the other from behind the mask. Cross shook his head. Cross wasn’t smiling.

“Mana’s dead.”

There was an indescribable look that passed Cross’ face, and as soon as it was there, Cross’s back was turned. “I need to leave now.”

“Okay.”

“I need to take care of his boy.”

“Okay.”

“His name’s Allen. Allen Walker. Remember it. It’ll be important.”

“Hn.”

“It’s important.”

“Right.”

Cross lingered.

“… you don’t have anything to say?”

Sokaro shrugged his shoulders. “What difference does it make?”

“Winters…”

“Go.”

It was only after Sokaro was certain that Cross was long gone that he felt the first urge, the desire to kill something human, to see fragility so clearly, and watch the stopping heart and lack of breath.

***

Four years passed until he saw Cross again – they barely exchanged words. There wasn’t anything to say. Sokaro looked on as Cross made his moves on Cloud, Tiedoll berating Cross the whole while. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re-”

“I’m not a fucking queer.”

Tiedoll smiled sadly. “I never asked if you were.”

Barely a day passed and they battled, and they barely won. Cloud tended to Lau’s wounds, and Sokaro walked to his bedroom to find Cross just inside the door.

“Not a good time,” Sokaro said without the shield of a mask to cover him.

“Perfect time,” Cross countered as he locked the door behind him.

***

  
The exorcists celebrated with champagne, then were grieved with another loss.

Cross disappeared, dispatched on a meeting.

Cross disappeared, leaving behind Judgment and a wall of blood.

Sokaro blamed Central immediately. He wanted to strangle Cloud for all her attempts, small statements to validate that he was alive. Wanted to make her bleed out slowly, Kyouki rammed deep inside her, and die. And that was horrible, and he knew it. But what was worse was the urge to do it, the feeling of no remorse.

Alone, he looked at the splatters of blood adorning the room.

The others had been there with somber faces. Cloud put on a front, almost looked brave, almost looked angry, but in the end she was nothing but a stupid woman. His respect for her dropped the moment he saw her cry. It sickened him as Tiedoll sobbed, too.

He knelt, fingers touching the blood that dried a reddish brown.

“Are you going to say anything?” Sokaro remembered Cross say.

No, he thought as he rose to his feet and left the room. There was nothing to say at all. 


End file.
